


About Running Away

by Leef



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Homeless Carl, M/M, Runaway AU, but it'll be worth it, it'll be a little slow in the beginning, like all my fics, maybe I will try some Dwight/Carl, so much, there'll also be smutty smut, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leef/pseuds/Leef
Summary: Carl ran away from home just to find himself on the streets. He doesn't want to go back - can't go back - but his first winter is hard on him. One day he meets a kind blonde stranger and his friend and before he knows it he's in more problems than before.





	About Running Away

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boi. I have just too many ideas and this is one of my favorites so far. I always loved runaway AUs and here is my Walking Dead Runaway AU. I hope you enjoy it. I will try to update this weekly, too. Hopefully every Wednesday.

It was cold. So cold.

Carl had never thought one could freeze that much, but he did. It was raining, and it was close to Christmas and he hadn’t brought his thick winter jacket when he had left in September. It was stupid, but he really didn’t think about it back then. Maybe he thought he’d be back until then and wouldn’t need it. But more likely he was just too caught up in other things, other thoughts, to think this far.

So, he sat there, on the steps of a building with all the clothes he owned wrapped around him. And it was still not enough. Especially because of the rain that had soaked him earlier, but he couldn’t get anywhere to get drier than here. He just kind of watched the people following their daily lives. It was already noon and it was getting dark. There weren’t as many people anymore but still enough hurrying along this street. Mostly because there was a diner across the street. It would be so nice to sit in there, have some nice, hot food and maybe something to drink. His stomach didn’t even growl anymore at the sight of people eating since his last meal was already too long ago and his stomach in a state of food deprivation induced numbness.

He could always go back home. 

He wrapped the sweater tighter around him and put his tongue between his teeth, so they would stop clattering. No, he wouldn’t go back. He had sworn himself to not do that. Ever. They didn’t care about him anyway. And this was a thousand times better than the nightmare at home. 

Carl hadn’t noticed that someone was approaching him and as soon as he noticed he made himself ready for a snarky comment. Too many people – especially men – had already encountered him with dubious offers for a night’s rest or a hot meal. He was sure he was rather good by now when it came to judge those people. There were some that were plainly nice, but most were dicks.

“Hey, you want something to eat?”

Carl looked at the man that stopped a few feet away. This was the first good sign – he knew what private space was. Most people somehow thought that they owned the right to violate his private space as soon as they offer him something. Then he began to study his face. He was maybe in his thirties, lanky, wearing a leather jacket and a hoodie under it. The hood covered most of his face, but he could see blonde streaks falling into his face. He looked… a little worried. As Carl didn’t answer he continued.

“I don’t want to creep you or anything, ‘s just real cold and you look a little lost. ‘s okay if you don’t want to.” The man pointed to the diner behind him with his thump over his shoulder. “I will be in there for a bit. Feel free to come in if you want and I’ll buy you somethin’.”

That was all he said before he left for said diner. Carl was a little confused since the man wasn’t pushy or anything. He wasn’t even angry when he didn’t answer. Most people were either one or the other. They either wanted something in return or threw a fit if he declined. As if he was so poor and such a sad bastard that he should take everything he could get and be happy with it. This guy was fundamentally different to the people he had encountered so far. 

After a few minutes thinking about whether this was a good idea or not, he got up and made his way to the diner. Carl always took care of his appearance, always tried to look somewhat decent. It was hard sometimes but he took care of himself, not wanting to smell or to look like the fucked-up homeless kid he was. He didn’t know whether people were actually staring at him upon entering the diner, but he suspected as much. He knew that his face looked rather thin and he didn’t like the moment he put his hood back so people could see.

The man that had invited him was seated in the back, studying the card but with a coffee in front of him. Carl hesitated but walked over there to stop in front of the booth. He waited until the man looked up at him and was surprised as he saw him giving him a smile. A warm smile. 

Carl felt uncomfortable.

“You made up your mind then?” He offered him the place across from his own and Carl sank down onto the warm and soft material. “Here, have what you want.” Carl took the card and nodded slightly. He knew he should thank him, should probably smile a little, to _seem_ thankful – which he really was – but he couldn’t bring his frozen muscles to work for him.

The waitress came and looked a little confused as she saw Carl but then she smiled slightly. No rude comment, then. There was little Carl hasn’t experienced yet. She brought the blonde man something to eat and asked what Carl would like but he didn’t know yet. He would take anything, but he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to take. Sure, he had said he could pick whatever he wanted, but he knew people were more complicated than really meaning what they say. 

Carl looked at the blonde who shrugged. 

“I really don’t care. Take what you want.”

So Carl ordered. A coffee and some toast with eggs and bacon. It wasn’t the cheapest, but it was far from the most expensive on the card. He guessed this should be okay and, honestly, his stomach probably couldn’t even take more anyway from the lack of food during the last two days.

“Thank you.” He finally managed after he got his cup of coffee to warm his numb fingers on. He looked into the black liquid as he said so.

“’s okay. I…” the man seemed unsure what to say and Carl looked at him, seeing a small conflict in his face “was in a same situation as you when I was younger,” he finally confessed, and Carl was a bit surprised. He didn’t look like it and he wondered how he got out of it. Carl knew it was possible but while living on the streets he could barely plan more than a few weeks and thinking about where he would be in a year or two, seemed like an impossible task. “Not that I know what your situation is or anything.” Now Carl believed him. No one who hasn’t gone through this knew how annoying it was when people told him that they exactly knew what was in and how it was. Because the truth was, no one did. No one, not even people being as homeless as him knew exactly what it was like for him because they didn’t know where he came from, what he lost, what his story was. 

Carl cast him the slightest smile and thanked him again. They sat there in silence until Carl’s food came and the blonde started to eat only then. His food must have been cold by then, but Carl was thankful for the gesture. It made him feel like a normal human being again. It was pathetic.

After finishing his meal, he felt warm enough to get out of his outer layer of clothes to put them next to him in the hope they would dry in time before the man would leave and he had to go, too.

“I’m Dwight, by the way.”

Carl was conflicted about offering his name, too. He wasn’t legally an adult yet and he was always afraid that people would recognize him and bring him back. He knew the chances were slim, since he went quite far away from home, but still. On the other hand, what could he do with his first name anyway?

“Carl.”

He saw Dwight smile again and drink his second cup of coffee. Carl’s own was empty by now, but he didn’t dare to ask for more. He was happy, though, when Dwight ordered another for him.

“I know you probably don’t like these questions – and you don’t have to answer – but for how long have you been living like this?”

He was right. Carl didn’t like these questions – hated them in fact – but he kind of liked the man, his attitude, his way of talking. And if he had learned one thing while fending for himself, it was to trust his guts. And his guts approved this guy in some way.

“A few months. Since summer.” Carl took a sip from his new coffee and embraced the hot fluid burning his throat. When he looked at Dwight again he looked worried. “What?”

“Nah, nothin’. It’s just your first winter then. Winters are tough.”

Carl nodded slightly. Yeah. And if he was being honest he was terrified. He knew most people on the streets barely made it. There was no one caring for homeless people freezing to death and this reminded Carl that he should get a thicker jacket from somewhere. 

“I can handle it.”

Dwight kept looking at him but didn’t say a word. Carl liked to imagine that he knew, that whatever he’d say would be the wrong thing to say, and Carl couldn’t even blame him. 

“Sure. You staying somewhere around here?” Dwight raised an eyebrow at him and Carl felt his body telling him that this was a too private question. Why did he care? That was none of his business and he didn’t know him so why did he ask this?

As if sensing Carl’s defensive silence, Dwight added, “I don’t care _where_ you are staying. Just wanted to tell you that I come here on a regular basis and if you want you can join me whenever you’re around here.” 

This being said eased some of the tension building up in Carl’s body and he nodded slightly, still unsure what he should think about this. He was just being nice, right? Because he had been in a similar situation once, right?

“Okay, so I come here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday around noon. Feel free to have a look, ‘kay?” He took another sip from his mug and Carl nodded again, emptying his own coffee. 

“Just… why do you care?” Carl really couldn’t wrap his head around this and he had to ask. “Because I look miserable? Because you think I can’t take it? Because you want a cheap fuck?” He didn’t intent to raise his voice and spoke quieter as soon as he noticed. He couldn’t ignore the slight smile on Dwight’s face, as if he wasn’t even angry about these assumptions.

“Nah, just because I remember my first winter when I was around your age,” he told him and there was no hint for Carl to catch that he was lying. “Guess I’m an idiot for caring, though. But anyway, I’d like to see you around sometime. To see you are not dead yet.” 

Carl watched him getting up and casting him another tiny smile before putting money on the table to pay for both their meals and beverages. Then he watched him leave into the rain without another word. Carl stayed there some more, waiting for his clothes to dry before getting out into the cold again, trying to find a place for the night.

It took Carl more than a week to get back to the diner. It was getting colder everyday and he had managed to get another sweater, which didn’t replace a proper jacket, but it was okay for now. He tried to stay warm by walking through shops instead. He hadn’t planned to visit the diner and Dwight again because he wanted to show himself that he was doing fine on his own, but that Friday he was so hungry and cold and miserable because he had gotten into some fight two nights prior. His face was still swollen, and his cracked lip continued to break all the time with the rough cold weather straining it. 

He knew he looked miserable and the last thing he wanted to do was showing his weakness, but he didn’t know another way. His fingertips felt numb and his stomach had stopped hurting from hunger a few hours ago – which he knew wasn’t a good sign at all. 

Carl had his hand buried deep in his pockets as he went to the diner to see if the blonde man was really there, as he had said he would. To his surprise he was, and Carl quickly took the two steps before entering. The warm air hugged him, and he smelled fresh coffee and eggs and felt overwhelmed by all this. He was so tired, so fucking tired and hungry and hurt and he only wanted to eat and sleep and feel safe for a moment or two and he wanted his face – no, his whole body - to stop aching for a moment. 

The way to the table in the back was quick and Carl noticed only when it was too late to turn around, that Dwight wasn’t alone but that there was another man sitting in the booth with him. Carl wasn’t prepared for another man, especially not someone who was that loud and laughing and joking. He had anticipated to spend an hour with the blonde man that seemed nice and quiet and like the very opposite to that man talking that moment. 

Carl couldn’t say anything and didn’t move as the dark-haired man’s eyes locked on him. Dwight was seated so that he couldn’t see him at first, but he turned as he noticed his friend’s – were they friends? – gaze shift. 

“Fuck me. You know this beaten dog, Dwighty?”

Carl felt his face flush and he wanted to bite back, to throw some stupid comment at him but he didn’t know what to say and all he could do was just keep staring at him.

“Carl? What the fuck happened? C’mere,” he sounded worried and somehow it made Carl’s heart warm at the thought of someone being worried about him. It felt like an eternity since the last honest concern.

Dwight made room for him on the bench and offered the place to him. Carl was reluctant, looked back to the other man that still looked somewhat surprised but that just didn’t stop grinning. What was so funny? Carl didn’t understand but he finally sat down. 

The blonde seemed to ignore his friend for a moment and focused all his attention on Carl. Carl wanted to disappear and tried to make himself as little as possible. This was worse than being out there. 

“Sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt you,” he said truthfully, and he was just not strong enough for any snarky comments or other rude behavior. 

“What the hell happened to your face? Did you get into a fight?” Dwight looked somewhat worried and Carl couldn’t stand this look. He hated being pitied and he knew he shouldn’t have come. His jaw clenched, and he forced his aching body to stand up again. 

“Forget it,” was all he managed to mumble while getting up. His body screamed that he should stay, just swallow his damn pride, and answer a few questions for a meal and some hot coffee. But Carl didn’t want to oblige his body. He didn’t need no one, and he certainly didn’t need this stranger asking him all those questions. 

Before he could turn he felt a tight grip on his upper arm and flinched at the rough touch. When he looked up the dark-haired man was standing, too, and he looked at him with his lips pressed into a tight line. There was no stupid grin anymore just seriousness and it made Carl’s blood freeze. This wasn’t good. He needed to get away, he couldn’t take another beating. Not now. He felt himself panicking and trying to get away from the danger before it was too late.

“Where you think you going? You will sit the fuck down again and eat a damn meal that Dwighty-boy here will gladly pay for. Cut the crap and sit down.” He glared at Carl and Carl tried to get his arm out of the tight grip – without any success. “Now.” 

Carl didn’t know why, but he complied and sat down beside Dwight again. Only a few moments later a waitress came and took their order. Carl didn’t say anything, so Dwight just ordered the same he had the last time. He didn’t dare to ask his questions again, but the other man seemed to like doing the talking more anyway.

“So, what the fuck happened to your face, stray boy?”

“Don’t call me that, fucker.” Finally, Carl managed a snarky comment and glared at the man, who seemed to find this very amusing since he leaned back in his seat and smirked a wide smirk.

“You prefer beaten dog, then?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow and Carl just clenched his fists under the table. Why wasn’t Dwight saying anything? Sure, they didn’t know each other really but he thought he’d be the guy to silence guys like this asshole. 

“Negan,” was all he said to the other man who shrugged in response. 

“I just want to know what fucker beat him up.”

“That’s none of your business,” Carl snapped and wrapped his fingers around the mug that had been brought to him. It was so hot, too hot, but he couldn’t wait for his fingers to get warm again. “He looks worse than me.”

That made the man across the table laugh loudly and Carl was startled at first. Then he found it a sweet reaction, actually, because he didn’t continue to make fun of him but seemed rather proud. 

“That’s some fucking statement. Hope you ain’t lying with that, little badass.”

Somehow this broke the ice and Carl started to relax a bit. He got his plate and dug into it, finishing it and his coffee quickly. The man, Negan as it seemed, then ordered some desert for him and another coffee, but not without noting that it’s all on Dwight who didn’t seem to protest but to smile at Carl. 

After half an hour of sitting there, Carl started to peel out of his jackets. He mostly settled for listening to the two men exchanging words. It was nice to just sit there, sipping coffee, eating cake, and listening to other people without being forced to talk himself. But somehow, him getting out of his jackets, got the attention of Negan and Dwight back at him and he regretted it immediately. 

“You look even more terrible under those layers.” 

Carl was only wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a flannel over it and he couldn’t have felt more naked. The thin clothes didn’t do much to hide his thin frame.

“You aren’t giving him enough food,” Negan said towards Dwight and Dwight just shrugged in return. 

“I just met him the other week and he didn’t show up here until today.”

“Hey, kid. You got to eat or the next time someone beat you up you won’t make it out of it with a split lip and a few bruises.” Negan’s tone was serious, and he looked at Carl in a stern way. “Hell, you won’t make it through the winter at all.”

Carl had stopped eating his cheesecake and he didn’t feel like he could continue after hearing that. Who was this guy to tell him what he could or couldn’t? He didn’t know him, and he was doing fine. Why did he even know about him making the winter and all that? Had Dwight talked about him? Carl knew he had no right to, but he felt betrayed. He was doing damn fine on his own.

Or was he?

“Don’t fucking cry now.”

He looked at the man across from him and only due to his blurred vision he noticed that he really was beginning to cry. He hated every second of it and the worst thing was that he didn’t even know why he was crying like a fucking child. He didn’t care what this guy thought of him, but his words had been so blunt he couldn’t deny the truth behind them. He knew he wouldn’t make it if he continued like this, but he didn’t know what else to do. He had no home to go back to and he had no money, no friends, nothing to help him through all this shit. 

“You ever offered him to stay at your place?” Carl was grateful that the attention of Negan shifted from him to Dwight and this way he had enough time to wipe away his tears before they could dwell out of his eyes.

“Hell no. I’m not a creep offering homeless kids to stay at my place. He would have run in an instant. And I am sure he’d say no anyway.” Dwight was right with everything he said. Carl would have run as fast as possible. He knew the stories about guys offering a place for the night. One got either beaten up, raped or killed. Or all of it in that exact order.

“But you are no fucking creep and that kid’s like barely breathing. A few pounds less and he’ll break in the middle. He’s lucky I didn’t break his arm by accident.” 

It was weird to hear those two talking about him in that way and he hated it so much. Carl continued to stare at his half-eaten cake and started to bite his lip – a habit he had picked up during middle school whenever he had been bullied. It had distracted him, and it didn’t fail to do so in that moment, too. Though he tasted blood earlier than expected and it just didn’t stop bleeding, so he bleed on his cake before he could even reach for a tissue to put it to his bruised lip. He hated his life so much right now.

“You okay?” Carl nodded at Dwight and kept pressing the tissue to his lip. Now he definitely wouldn’t finish his cake. “You know, I know this still sounds creepy,” Carl looked at him and he really seemed uncomfortable saying this, “but if you want to, you can crash on my couch for the night. Or a few days. I don’t care.” 

Carl blinked at him a little confused. He had missed important parts of the talk Negan and Dwight had have and he didn’t know what to think about that offer. It was damn cold, and he couldn’t go to his usual sleeping place since that guy from the fight was probably there. He was lost, and Dwight seemed… nice enough. Though he wasn’t sure about it. He didn’t know him, and he certainly didn’t trust him no matter how nice he was and how often he would buy him food and coffee. 

“Oh, come on, kid. Dwighty here is like the nicest guy in town. Despite his badass leather jacket and wild hair.” Negan grinned at him. Carl couldn’t stop himself from thinking that Negan didn’t seem like a nice guy and Dwight was friends with him so that made it a bit weird. “He won’t eat you. Not more than those guys out there would.”

Carl bit his lip again, only to be reminded by a sharp pain, that it was a stupid idea. 

“Hell, I am sure you can even sleep with a kitchen knife under your pillow if that makes you feel safer.” 

Carl looked back from Negan to Dwight who still seemed as uncomfortable as before. Was it because of Negan’s pushy talking or because he didn’t want to seem like a creep? Carl couldn’t really pin it down.

“If that’s okay…” He searched for Dwight’s eyes and as he found them he nodded. 

“Sure. It’s not far from here and you can sleep with a knife if you want to.” 

This made Carl chuckle a little and it seemed to ease the blonde, too. 

“God, that wasn’t that fucking hard, was it?” Negan sighted dramatically and emptied his mug. After that he stood up and began prancing out of the diner as if he owned that place – of course without paying or saying good-bye. Carl looked after him but soon looked back to Dwight who had already put money on the table. 

“I guess you won’t eat that anymore?” he asked and pointed to the bloody cheesecake. Carl removed the tissue from his lower lip and shook his head.

“Sorry.”

“’s okay. Let’s go, then.”

And with that they left the diner and Carl tried to ignore the uneasy feeling forming in his stomach as he followed the blonde to his place. But he knew he had nothing to lose so what bad should happen to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! You made it! 
> 
> Also here's a reminder that I have a tumblr where you can drop me prompts, messages and shit like that. 
> 
> buriedbrain.tumblr.com


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